From Hate to Love
by theflawintheplan
Summary: "We have a lot of history together. You can't just throw away everything that happened." "I can," Christophe huffed from beneath the blond. "...And I 'ave." As the door slam's echoes faded, Gregory was left to think in the silence. Christophe/Gregory.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here's the full summary: **Working for the government is no walk in the park-just ask Damien Thorne. When he isn't trying to convince top agent, Christophe Delaterre, not to be late for work, he is secretly trying to woo the head of a foreign agency via the aforementioned agent. But how can he make the "rule-follower" his if Christophe is more focused on an agent from the same rival agency than the "missions" Damien gives him? Will this new case spell success for him in all these fields?**

And just to warn you guys, this story contains slash (boy on boy action), rude things being said to others, some inspiration from other TV shows, subtance abuse, and contantly changing PoVs. Don't like it, then please at least don't flame me. I gave you fair warning.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The students sat like lazy, bleary-eyes soldiers, waiting for the ever silent bell to ring before the commander could hand out the homework assignment. From where he watched, the man could practically feel the boredom seep into his body, stiffening his joints and slowing his thoughts and reactions.

"Mr. Thorne? Mr. Thorne? Mr. Thorne!"

"What?" Mr. Thorne gave the last of his attention to the monotone teacher.

"The students apparently do not know the answer to my question. Do you wish to help them out?" Shit. He hated helping others learn, but when you were the head of a secret government organization....

_Brring!_

Ah, saved by the bell. Mr. Thorne smirked at the disappointed teacher and strolled away, ready to do something else. He had only sat in on that particular class because he owed that particular instructor a favor, not knowing how dull he actually was in the classroom. Now he wanted to get what was important done. He practically ran through the government building, barely stopping to tell his collegues hello. He went inside his office and closed the door, finally taking a moment to breathe in the tranquillity of his workspace. Sitting behind his desk, Damien made sure no one was watching before opening a secret drawer and taking out his most prized possession: a picture of his true love, Phillip "Pip" Purrip. Of course, no one knew of his affections for this man (with the exception of one agent) because while he could care less what they thought, he knew they would tell Pip to stay away. And he could only imagine that the head of the English secret government organization would only be too happy to oblige. He was not sure how well his heart could take that scenario.

"Mr. Thorne! Mr. Thorne!" Oh great. More work.

"Yes, come in." He laid Pip's picture on his lap and sighed. This was probably about Christophe again. A head of bright red curls bounced into the decently-sized room. "H-hello sir, how are y-you today?" The man asked politely.

Another inhale, followed by a long exhale. "Let's skip the nicieties Broflovski, and cut to the real reason why you're here."

"Or course sir," Kyle said sheepishly. "Christophe finally arrived. I thought you would like to know that." Damien's eyes glowed red.

"Send him in." Kyle scuttled out in nervousness, not wanting to deal with his hot-tempered boss any more than he had to at the moment. He approached Christophe and resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the Frenchman winked at him. All of his sheepishness and nervousness disappeared.

"Why 'ello Kyle, you know you do not 'ave to go out of your way to greet me!"

"Don't flatter yourself Christophe, I'm only telling you that the boss wants to see you in his office right now." Kyle began to walk away, but jumped as he felt a hand collide sharply with his ass. Before he could protest, Christophe breezed past him and into Damien's lair.

" 'Ello sir, 'ow are-"

"Sit." Quiet, yet forceful, so Christophe decided it was safer to sit. Damien regarded the man across from him with slight anger.

"Do you have any information about Purrip you like to say before we begin?" The french man shrugged.

"_Non._ Why do you not just ask 'im out?"

Damien ignored this question. "So not only were you late again, but you also did not do what I asked." Christophe's eyes widened at the realization of the real reason he was called in.

"Sir, eet weell not 'appen-"

"It happens five times a month at the very least. You tell me every time that you won't be late again, but I'm starting to consider letting you go." Damien held up two fingers to quiet any interruptions from Christophe. "I don't want to do that because you're a damn good agent. However, if you don't start considering the time you arrive, I don't see any other alternative."

"Sir, I promeese. Eet weell not 'appen again. You can fire me on ze spot eef eet does." Damien raised his eyebrows. That was a pretty bold offer considering it could very well happen the next day. However, he sighed.

"It better not." Christophe's eyes brightened as he was given another chance.

"Zank you sir, eet weell not 'appen again. I promeese, I swear!" He left in a giddy skip, still promising he would not be late for work anymore. Damien sighed for the umpteenth time and rubbed his temples, taking one last glance at Pip and his lovely features before setting the picture back inside of the drawer he got it from. He took a deep breath and turned on his computer and started compiling the data over the past year's successful and not-so-successful missions. He only hoped Christophe was keeping himself busy as well.

***

"Don't you have work you should be doing at the moment, Christophe?" Coolly. subtly trying to shoo the possessive Frenchman from his station, Kyle did not give him the satisfaction of eye contact, instead keeping his eyes firmly glued to the lit screen before him.

"Kyle, you _are_ my work." At the quirked brow he received, the brunette elaborated. "You faces-all your pouts, sneers, confused eyebrows, all of zat-make you very cute, make me want you. And when I want somezeeng, I do not rest unteel zat zeeng ees safely and successfully een my arms. Do you understand now, Kyle?"

"I _do_ understand." The ginger-haired man finally looked at him, abeit sternly. "The question is, do you understand that I'm interested in someone else?"

Christophe scoffed. "Zat All-Amereecan can not love you like I can. Kyle, I love you."

Now it was Kyle's turn for skepticism. "Stan is sweet, loving, and care about me. You're insensitive, hateful toward others, and don't give a flying fuck about my feelings. Admit it, you still can't stand the fact that I love another guy. You're willing to rip my affections away from him."

"Kyle, I love you." Christophe repeated, thoroughly confused. Kyle stared at him awhile and then exhaled softly, knowing whatever he said would not reach the best agent they had. "Just go back to work, Christophe."

"Fine, fine." He held up his hands in a sign of surrender and started back for his own desk. He looked back only once, but to his dismay Kyle had already swivled back to his work, gazing in the other direction.

***

_'Why does 'e not see zat we belong togezer? Zat _boy_ 'e ees eenterested een 'as 'is 'ead so far up zat Wendy girl's ass zat 'e does not noteece Kyle's affections.'_ As Christophe fumbled with the lock to his apartment, he thought about how Kyle's eyes gleamed so prettily when he talked of Stan Marsh, his love interest. Did they ever sparkle like that for conversations about Christophe? No, the french man had to admit that they most likely did not. Finally the door swung open and he stepped inside, thorwing his coat away without caring where it landed and made himself a quick dinner or sliced ham and bread before turning out the lights and going to bed. He stared at the then darkened ceiling, hoping sleep would claim him soon. Before his wish could be carried out however, more thoughts of Kyle and that faggot Marsh waltzed through his mind.

_'Why can 'e not love me? What does zat brat 'ave zat I do not? I know zat Kyle does not liked to be peenched or 'andled, but would zat really change 'is desires for me? And 'ow can I go about makeeng someone love me 'oo obveeously does not?'_

It was all very sad and confusing and Christophe did not feel like depressing himself any longer. Luckily, he did not have long to wait before he fell into a deep, abiet lonely, sleep.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A/N: Poor Christophe! Ah well, he'll get what he wants in the end, even if it may not be exactly what he wished for. No preview again, but I should have one in the next chapter....Maybe.

Tootle loo!

~theflawintheplan


	2. Chapter 2

"The sky today is a crystal blue with little cloud cover."

Christophe awoke to the sound of a fake man's smile shooting the weather at him. Quickly glancing at the clock, the groggy Frechman pleasantly found that he was not late yet. He had about...fifteen minutes. "Sheet!" He hurriedly got up, showered (halfway through, he discovered that he was still in his pajamas), and dressed, giving himself just enough time to skip breakfast _again_ before heading out of the door. Having not listened to the weather man giving the temperatures, Christophe was pleasantly surprised to find it nice outside-at least, right before it started pouring. He muttered curses in all the seventeen languages he knew the entire way to the American government building. Why the man he refused to mention even mentally got to serve in his native country while the French man had to find a job in the country he could barely stand, Christophe did not know. However, he was not about to be fired. He made his way past the security guards and into the bustling interior. Something seemed off though...

Not being one to dismiss a feeling of displacement, Christophe immediately went to the desk labeled with the name "Broflovski". If anyone would know what was going on, it would be Kyle. However, the beautiful ginger-haired man was nowhere to be seen near his station. Christophe did not need to wait long though. Uopn turning around he came face to face with the aforementioned man.

" 'Ello, Kyle!"

Kyle jumped and looked at him as if he had not yet seen noticed the brunette standing there. "What do you need?" He asked quickly, already shifting his gaze from Christophe to the papers in his hands, endlessly going through them. The thickly accented man took no notice of it.

"I was comeeng to work today," Kyle rolled his eyes as if to say, 'That really _is_ a shock', but Christophe was thinking too hard to take in this gesture. "And I could not 'elp but feel a strange sort of feeleeng. As eef somezeeng ees deeferent today, but I can not grasp what zat somezeeng ees." Christophe chose to ignore a man who ran past the pair screaming, "God save us all" repeatedly while waving his arms wildly. Some Americans were just so rude.

"Christophe, please talk to me later. Something's come up and I've got to get this data to the boss." Kyle looked around Christophe's body, catching a glimpse of the office door. He sidled past the French man and practically ran toward his destination. He stopped in defeat as the bane of his existence asked him a question.

"Well, what do _I _do while you are gone?"

"Go..." Kyle gestured abstractly in the air with his hands, hoping the words would come to him that way. "...Keep yourself busy." He finished lamely. He went inside and shut the door behind him. "Boss." He stated to receive acknowledgement. Damien flicked his eyeline to Kyle's fretting green orbs.

"Broflovski, what have you got?" Kyle handed him the papers he had gathered and Damien quickly scanned them, eyebrows moving downward with every line. "Get Delaterre in here now!" Kyle's forehead was now creased with worry. Why was Christophe needed as well? Was it really that big of a case?

"Uh Boss, why are you-"

Damien lost his patience. "Now, Broflovski!"

Kyle jumped. "R-right, Boss." He scurried away to find Christophe, only to run straight into him.

"Kyle!" Christophe's lips slid into an easy smirk. "What deed I tell you about being so eager to see me?"

The Jew's countenance changed rapidly into what he used to around the brunette: anger and exasperation. "Save it, Delaterre. Thorne wants to see you in his office."

Kyle accompanied him to the door and when Damien saw him walking off after Christophe was inside, he called after him. "Where do you think you're going, Broflovski?" The redhead faced him with confused eyes. "Well, I-I thought you wanted Chris-"

"I do, but I never gave you a dismissal in that order, did I?" Kyle stuttered a few words of apology. "_Did _I, Broflovski?" The poor man flustered, deperately trying to find the words that would appease his boss. "Well, n-no Boss, but..." Damien's raised eyebrows silenced any other thoughts Kyle wanted to portray.

"Sit, Broflovski."

"Of course, sir." Kyle said quickly, sitting down in the chair next to Christophe's slightly snickering form.

"The two of you will be undercover in England."

"_ENGLAND_?"

Ignoring Christophe's outburst, save a warning look, Damien continued. "You will pose as tourists visiting England for the first time, second honeymoon. Find out all the information you can about this case."

"But sir," Kyle interrupted. Damien did not look pleased, but let him speak anyway. "Wouldn't the English government already know about this? Can't they handle their own affairs?" Christophe was not sure why he was being sent to _England_ of all places, so he kept his ears open as the Americans liked to say.

"We can't be sure Pirrip knows about the gravity of the murders. Besides if he does, Broflovski, we could us any information he might have already aquired, if any, to help our own situation." Christophe's face paled visibly. Murders? Thorne knew he did _not _take missions that involved murders. Too much risk to put himself in and too much risk to put Kyle in.

"I'll tell you more about what you'll be doing when you're actually inside the country. Otherwise, I can't be sure that Christophe will remember everything." Kyle grinned, but Christophe did not appreciate the cutting remark. Damien smirked and dismissed them.

"Christophe, stay here for a minute." The brunette obeyed though he was confused. He was on time today, so what did his boss want?

"Yes?"

"While you're there, you might want to find out more about Pip. I can't pursue him if I don't know what type of man he likes."

"Ees not being yourself the better route?" Damien shot a look much like the one before.

"Look where that's gotten you with Broflovski." Christophe's face fell at the statement, but Damien refused to take it back.

"Remember Delaterre, it's our little secret. Not even Kyle needs to know what you're doing." Christophe grumbled something about Kyle might not even talk to him, but his boss was no longer listening. "Great! Your plane leaves in half an hour. You better hurry and catch it."

"But sir, eet takes forty meenutes to reach ze airport."

"That's why I said 'Hurry', Delaterre." The Frenchman let out a very manly squeak and rushed out of the office, ignoring Kyle's cries of protest as he grabbed him from outside the room. As he dragged him outside toward their already waiting car, ladened with their stuffed suitcases (Damien often did things as fast as possible), Christophe decided to bring up what happened earlier in the office.

"So Kyle ees scared of ze boss..." The athiest mused out loud. He chuckled. "I zought you were tougher zan zat!" His chuckles gave way to obnoxious laughter that Kyle did not appreciate.

"Coming from the man who has not seen action in months. There has to be a reason for that." Kyle retorted angrily. "In fact, it was right after another mission involving the English. What happened Christophe?" Kyle taunted. "You know, between you and Sharpe?"

Christophe growled, exactly the reaction Kyle expected and counted on. "Why does eet matter? We are not workeeng wiz 'im now. 'E weell not mess up zis meesion." He let go of the redhead beside him and made his strides longer, trying to get to the car faster, but Kyle would not let the subject drop.

"What happened?" He asked, now geniunely concerned. Christophe had not shown this much anger about a particular mission in a long time. Christophe refused to answer, instead yanking the driver door open and getting in. Kyle copied his moments, albeit calmer, and they began to drive off. Kyle felt uneasy the entire ride to the airport. He knew there was something deeper than the fucked up mission Christophe confessed.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

On the plane, Kyle had begun to enjoy the silence. After all, the air may have been tense, but it was not often Christophe shut his mouth around the Jew.

"So what exactly ees zis meession about?" Kyle sighed. Of course God would screw up one of his simple pleasures-when had He failed him before?

Shifting to face him, Kyle looked a little easy. "Well, there have been certain...occurrences throughout various countries..." He struggled to find the words that would not tell the man beside him the whole truth.

"Kyle?"

"...Yes?"

"I am not a ceeteezen. I know somezeeng beeg ees goeeng on and you are eensulteeng my eentelleegence when you say zose kind of zeengs."

Kyle sighed. This was going to be difficult. Whispering he replied, "Okay I'll tell you a little bit of what I know, in case the other passengers are listening. Is _that_ okay?" Christophe pouted, but nodded his consent.

"A few months ago, a boy went missing only to turn up his bedroom three days later. There was no sign of fatality other than his non-existent breathing or heart beat. Since no evidence could be found, the case was dropped. After that, six more incidents occured in America and then seven cases in every popular European country seemingly overnight with the most recent being the first murder in England." Since the story's beginning, Christophe's eyes had steadily grown brighter and brighter until Kyle got heated.

"Feel free to feel some sympathy for the grieving families!" He hissed.

"I do feel sorry for zem, zat ees why I am not laugheeng. Eef I wanted to deesrepect zem, I would laugh." The man shrugged and the Jew just wanted to slap the comfortable expression right off of his face.

"You shouldn't have even come. I could've handled the mission well enough on my own." Christophe showed a spark of anger as well.

"Really? Because you 'andled ze last one so well. Deed you not zeenk ze target 'ad changed 'is ways and so you tried to protect 'im

from your own government?" Kyle's cheeks flushed in embarassment.

"You know, I never asked you to be my partner! I don't want you here."

"Fine. Go 'ome to your leetle Stan 'oo loves _someone else_ and forget about saveeng lives because you cannot stand your partner!"

Kyle turned toward the window, and he did not turn back around for the remainder of the trip. That was fine with Christophe though. He knew no matter what he did during the mission, Kyle would never love him back. They sat in stony silence the rest of the flight.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

They got off the airplane after hours of saying nothing at all, Christophe exiting with exquisite poise, Kyle having to jump since the attendants did not see him and gave the signal for the door to close. The redhead landed gracefully enough, gathered his bearings and jogged to catch up with the Frenchman. They both grabbed their piles of luggage, soon realizing they had no way to start with the mission. With the explanation and quiet anger, they did not get around to much planning.

"Well first, I suppose we should catch a ride with a chauffeur so we can see if anyone know about the murders yet." Kyle said blankly. Christophe gave one short, succint nod and they spotted an aged, half bent over man with a sign that read, "KERN". Kyle quickly walked over and greeted the man.

"Hello, are you my chauffeur?" Kyle asked with a slight country accent. The man looked him up and down and glanced over at Christophe.

"I don't think so," he replied in heavy cockney. Christophe had to hold down a sneer. "You never told me you'd be bringing a companion and you sounded different on the phone." Kyle smiled, not missing a beat.

"Yes, those are American phones for you. Always get the soundwaves all jumbled up. And as for my husband, I wasn't aware at the time that he was coming. I hope that's not a problem." He blinked his long, gorgeous eyelashes at the man.

"Not at-" His voice cracked as he answered, so he cleared his throat loudly and tried again. "Not at all. Right this way then." He picked up Kyle's bags, leaving Christophe to carry his own heavy items, and briskly walked to the waiting limosine.

As his two companions traveled onward, the brunette caught sight of a dark stain on the pavement and stopped to inspect it. Kyle saw two men from Pirrip's agency before Christophe did and knew he had to get the man into their self-arranged vehicle before they were seen themselves. "Christophe-" Apparently the ginger-haired man was not heard, because the addressed cut him off, still somewhat excited about the mission and what he believed was their first piece of evidence.

"Finally a new meession." The brunette practically jumped up and down in joyfulness. How this man started out so professional and then turned into this giddy little boy, Kyle would never know. What he did know was that they would get caught before the assignment began if the French man did not exercise more caution.

"Christophe!" Again he went unheeded. Swallowing a gigantic chunk of his pride and kissing him on the cheek, he whispered in his ear. "Can you please pay attention to me?"

"But of course," Christophe answered, grinning. Kyle took him by the arm and led him to the black classic limo. Once inside, the pair fell into an uncomfortable silence that the Jewish man did not break only because, once again, he did not know when his next rest from the Atheist's constant mouth would be. However, Kyle's cell vibrated, ending his bliss.

"Broflovski...What? But...No, no that's not...But sir, I'm perfectly capable...Of course sir, I'll inform him right away." He hung up and fixed Christophe with a blank stare.

"Apparently Pirrip found out we were here a lot faster than we counted on." To Kyle's amazment, the other laughed.

"I supposed 'e's peessed zen."

"Yes, he is. So much so in fact that he wants in, considering we're in his country without jurisdiction."

"Goddamn Breets!" Christophe swore loudly. "Zey want everyzeeng for zemselves, zose selfeesh bastards!"

"Christophe, calm down. There's more that I need to tell you." The Frenchman huffed, but otherwise did as he was told. Kyle took a deep breath and slowly exhaled in preparation, looking out of the window. "I'm not going to be your partner on this mission."

"WHAT?" He and Kyle fought sure, but he did not want Kyle to really go back to the States.

Kyle acted like the outburst never happened. "Instead, your partner will be Gregory Sharpe." At Christophe's look of recognition, Kyle feigned surprise. "I take you've met before?"

"_Mais oui_." Christophe, realizing he was speaking French, backtracked. "Of course, but Kyle, please don't-"

"That settles it then. You and Sharpe can figure out who's behind the murders." Kyle opened the car door and made his way toward the two agents still walking around, presumably looking for their car. To Christophe's horror, Kyle shook hands with the "enemy" and began a short conversation-one that ended with Kyle walking back inside, probably to buy a ticket back home, and the only blond in the group walking toward the limosine in which the French brunette was seated. He opened the door the same way Kyle did, the only difference being that he entered when Kyle had exited the car.

Taking the seat across from Christophe, the blond gave him a strange sort of smile crossed between a smirk and a grin. "Hello again, Christophe."

"Sharpe."

Choosing to ignore the fact that the greeting was dripped with venom, Gregory's smile-smirk widened. "Looks like we're going to be partners. Reminds you of old times, doesn't it?" The car finally began to pull out of the airport parking lot.

"Yes, old times I'd razer forget." Silence enveloped the car once more and Christophe wished Kyle was there rather than Sharpe. Gregory only wanted Christophe to jump him right then, because if he did not, the Brit would gladly oblige the other. Three quarters of an hour later, they arrived at the hotel they were to share.

"Hullo!" The receptionist cheerfully greeted them and Christophe held back a groan as the blonde beside him flirted with her. The damn British always danced on his nerves. When Gregory winked in her direction and she giggled in reply, Christophe's scowl deepened.

"Look, we need a room wiz two beds. Zink you can 'andle zat?" The girl frowned, but handed a room key to the angry chestnut-haired man.

"Room 311." As they both turned to the elevator, the girl called out, "I hope you enjoy your stay here, Mr. Smith!"

Gregory replied, "If I don't, you know where to find me." The girl burst into a fit of giggles and Christophe found himself acting like Kyle as he rolled his eyes and pushed Gregory into the elevator. In a matter of long, silent seconds, they reached the room and Christophe heaved his two bags onto his now claimed bed and hoped the peacefulness would last the rest of the mission. Of course, he had no such wish granted.

He could feel the blond's eyes scan his body with lust, hungry for something he could not have. So he turned, ready to tell Gregory exactly who he was to the French native.

"Leesten Sharpe, you mean one zeeng to me: a way of getteeng zis meession over wiz so I can geet back to my Kyle and my deeggeeng."

"Ah yes," Gregory sighed. "The lovely hobby that's always more important than me. Tell me, when will your obsession over things turn toward me and my bed?"

"When you deescover 'ow ze 'ead on your shoulders fuctions so much better zan ze one een your pants and you realize zat a Breet and a Frenchman could never work. Not to mention we work for two deefferent organizations _and_ I am een wiz love someone else." Christophe retorted. How many times did he have to tell the English man this before it actually got through to his oversized brain? He was beginning to wonder if Gregory really was as smart as he thought. Speaking of which, the very blond was now looking at Christophe as if not truly seeing him.

" 'Ello? Earz to ze eedeeot?"

"You have the prettiest face." The "idiot" whispered huskily. "When we were eight, it was rugged and almost looked deformed. But now it seems like you're finally taking pride in what God gave you."

Christophe felt so angry, he almost choked on the suddenly insuffient air supply. "First of all, zat ees _not_ a compleement. Second, I do not care about what God gave me, 'E ees a faggot 'oo 'as fucked me over one too many times." Tears almost made their way to Christophe's eyes but he forced them down again before Gregory could catch on. The last thing he needed was to show weakness in front of this man. Gregory held up his hands in defeat.

"Okay then, don't like me. But you _do_ have to work with me now." He smirked as he made his way over, causing the French man to back away. "Who knows? Maybe you'll grow to like me. After all," Christophe had currently backed into a corner, and now glared up at Gregory in defiance. "We have a lot of history together. You can't just throw away everything that happened." He smirked.

"I can," Christophe huffed from beneath the blond and pushed Gregory away violently, picking up his bags and heading for the hotel door. When he was halfway through the doorway, he paused without looking back. "And I 'ave."

As the slam's echoes faded, Gregory was left to think in the silence.

A/N: And now the Gregtophe/Christory tiffs begin! YAY!

When I wrote down, "...to Christophe's eyes but he forced them down again..." you were meant to infer that Christophe has cried over somthing that has happened before the mission, not that he started crying earlier now in the chapters. Maybe some of you caught that, maybe not. It doesn't matter, I just want to clear that up.

Dip encounters happen in the next few chapters and we get to find out what happened between Christophe and Gregory in the last mission they shared, so stay tuned!

Oh, and there's still no preview. Sorry, but I have to much AP homework to do right now.

A bientot! (I know "a" is spelled wrong, but at the moment, my computer won't let me add special characters.)

~theflawintheplan


	3. Chapter 3

When Christophe finally returned from his stress-relieving walk, he set down his bags in front of the hotel's entrance and gaped at the sight before him: Gregory was still flirting that girl. The French brunette felt his blood boil. Did the God-worshipping Brit not focus everytime he had a mission? Christophe remembered the last time he saw Gregory in action and this is not bad as then, but still. He had a front mind to shake the both of them until their teeth scrambled and their brains rattled as some Americans liked to say.

He cleared his throat so loudly that the sound traveled throughout the nearly silent room. The two (lovesparrows?) looked up and Gregory frowned in disappointment.

"Oh! Hello again, Christophe, we weren't expecting you until later. You see, I told Marie here that you're prone to long tantrums."

Christophe fixed his gaze on the girl, his eyes seemingly burning her soul where she stood. Oh, if he only could.... "I deed not know you two were so friendly." He said. The girl smiled at the calm tone, but Gregory looked wary.

"Christophe, it's really not that big of a deal. Why don't you go back up to the room and unpack and I'll leave you alone for a while."

The French native scoffed. "I am not leaveeng you two alone togezer, you would turn into eento leetle rabbeets." At both faces being affronted, he smirked. "And I zought ze Breeteesh were classy, but eet ees just goes to show zat ze Eengleesh never were, and never weell be."

"Gregory wanted to kill Christophe on the spot. "Don't insult us when you know very well what happened between us the last time we did something like this together. You know that it was _all your doing_." He chose his words very carefully so that the brunette would get the meaning behind the words, but the girl would still be left in the dark. And judging by the expressions they gave, Gregory got his wish.

The girl looked between the two. "I-I'm sorry...are you two...together?"

"No!"

"_Oui_!"

Both glared at each other because they knew the reason why Christophe chose his answer: he did not want the pair of Brits conversing anymore. Why he did not want this was a mystery still. The girl knit her brows in confusion.

Gregory was quick to "explain". "We _were_ together once, but this...aggressive young man has not quite embraced the fact that we have since went separate ways." He pointed at the French man pointedly. The girl still appeared confused.

"Then...why are you two here together?" Christophe smirked, thinking she finally cornered the arrogant prick in a lie.

Without batting an eyelash, the blond supplied the answer. "_I _came here by myself. He followed me and bought a room with me. Probably to reignite the flame we used to have." Christophe squinted at Gregory in disbelief. _He _was the one who was dedicated to the so-called flame they used to have. The girl, Marie or whatever, looked at Gregory pityingly and then glared at Christophe. The blond smirked at the brunette before turning to the other blonde.

"Well, I'm tired; I think I'm going to retire for the night. Jeg lag and all that." He left the two alone to settle their differences.

Marie and Christophe's eyes did not leave the other's glaring orbs-they would not lose the battle for Gregory's focus. Finally they blinked at the same time, igniting another set of daggers before Christophe turned to the lift.

As he waited for the doors to slide open, he spoke to Marie without looking back at her. "Eef you zeenk 'e loves you, you better zeenk twice. 'E ees very good at makeeng someone believe 'e cares about zem." He meant for the words to sound snide and uncaring, but they both heard the underlying heartbreak in the words.

Taken aback, Marie just stared as the Frenchman entered the lift and rode up to the waiting Brit and his room.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

"So you came back." Gregory said an hour later, amused. Christophe just shot him a dirty look before going back to a book in his hands. Gregory craned his neck to look only to find it was a poem book compiling the works of Jacques Prevert. Of course.

"You realize that those poems are the twisted mind of-" Another look cut off whatever the sentence was going to end with.

"I really do not care what you zeenk. I am a step away from writeeng poems like zis eef eet weell geet you off my back. Besides, zey make me smile." A toothy grin flashed, but Gregory was reminded more of an agressive wolf than a geniuinely happy person.

The Brit shrugged and settled into one of the chairs the hotel had provided. "How long do you think we're suppposed to be on this mission?"

"I do not know, I do not really know much about ze meession." He moved the book closer to his face to show Gregory he did not want to be bothered anymore, but the blond did not take the hint.

"You don't?" Christophe sighed and looked into the wide mud-colored eyes.

"I was not told much zis time. So _non, je ne sais pas_." Hopefully that would get the prick off his back. However, the brunette's dismay, the Brit smirked with satisfaction.

"So they decided to tell you the bare minimum, right?" Christophe said nothing, but Gregory was not deterred. "Wow, I never thought I'd see the day when Christophe Delaterre didn't know everything that went on in the mission. It's almost like your boss doesn't trust you anymore."

Christophe did not show the dick-head that he had struck a nerve. Hiding the shock on his eyes, Christophe faced Gregory again. "Gregory, what exactly did _your_ agency tell you because it does not seem like you know the time to spend on this either." The Brit looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

"D-don't worry about my knowledge of the situation. The fact is that you are avoiding addressing my earlier statement. Doesn't your boss trust you anymore?" The blond was glad that he was able to stop his stutter and turn the conversation back to the Frenchman.

Forest green orbs glared defensively into brown ones. "I am sure zat zere ees a perfectly logeecal explanation for 'is lack of eenformation. And besides, you are avoideeng me as well."

Determination radiated off the Englishman. "And I never will answer that." The Frenchman grinned evilly.

"Ees zat because you were not told any more zan I was?"

"I don't have to answer that question, but I will anyway to humor your ego." He ignored the glare he received. "Pirrip believes in trickling information to his agents so that if they're caught, they don't have a lot of information to share with the target or enemy."

Christophe thought about this for a while. "What eef zey are captured after zey receive a seegneefeecant amount of eenformation?"

The Englishman shifted in what Christophe assumed was discomfort. "Ah, so ze Eengleesh 'ave not zought of zis leetle problem. " 'Ow are you goeeng to solve zis murder mystery eef you do not zeenk of everyzeeng zat could go wrong?" Gregory looked at the Atheist wearily.

"We have thought of that, that's why a lot of agents in our building know little facts and none know everything." Christophe thought he was making stuff up, but before he could call him out on it, Gregory looked at him pointedly. "What do the Americans practice?"

For the first time since quitting the mercenary business and becoming a spy, Christophe felt a twinge of protectiveness for his agency. "Zey do ze exact same zeeng. Zey are not a bunch of eembeciles, Gregory!" The Brit loved the way his name sounded in a French accent. He wanted to snatch the Frenchman and take him into the bedroom.... However, he knew from experience how recklessness that could be.

So he settled for saying, "That's the first time in months that you've called me by my first name."

Christophe groaned in frustration and left the room.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Damien smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in his suit and rechecked his reflection in the glass doors. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he smirked confidently and went through the entrance, striding over the bored-looking secretary.

"Name?" She sighed, picking one bitten-down nail with another short one.

"Damien Thorne. I'm here to meet with Phillip Pirrip."

She exhaled heavily. "What the reason for your visit? Mr. Pirrip wouldn't tell me."

He smiled with feigned sweetness. "I'm afraid that if you don't already know that, then you don't really need to know, do you?" She sneered, but supplied her boss's whereabouts.

"Third floor, second door to your left. You two have the whole conference room to yourselves." Damien breathed out as he stepped into the lift. He was finally going to talk to Pip again since the last mission involving Sharpe and Delaterre. He just hoped the lovely Brit did not hold him responsible for what happened during those two weeks their two best agents were alone together.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Damien gazed dreamily at the blond that was the object of his affections. The other stood suddenly, causing the raven to jolt back to reality.

"First, I want to know just what you were thinking when you decided to send your agents into my country." Damien shifted uncomfortably under Pirrip's intense gaze.

"We only wanted to stop this thing before it got too out of hand. We couldn't waste time giving you a call in the hopes that you would pick up."

Pirrip sneered in a way that almost made Damien gulp in fear. "Because an aeroplane is so much faster." The raven quickly composed himself before answering.

"I did what I thought was best."

"No, that's just it Damien!" Pirrip lost himself for a moment and Damien happily heard his first name pass through the blond's lips. "You weren't thinking! You weren't thinking at all...! But what could I expect from someone who acts on his impulse? Who acts _without_ _considering the consequences_?" The last four words were beat out with his hand slamming down on the table.

This time Damien became angry as well.

"I did what I thought was best, Pirrip." He insisted. "What more could I have done?"

"A call would've have been grand....No hold on, you _should_ have stayed in your own damn country and let me handle England's affairs! You had no permission to do what you did!" They glared at each other from across the long conference table for a few tense moments before there was a knock at the door.

"Come in." Pirrip growled. Somehow his secretary still heard him.

"Sir, it's time for your afternoon tea." She glanced between the two men worriedly, then kept her eyes locked on her boss. Pirrip sighed and sat down, rubbing his temples with two fingers. After a time he looked back up at Damien.

"Would you like some tea?"

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

"So Christophe, when are we going to get started on the mission?" Gregory asked three hours later, emerging from the bedroom. The brunette groggily lifted his head from the couch's arm and cast bleary eyes at the blond figure that was coming toward him.

"What meession?" He questioned.

Gregory smiled, but did not show the Frenchman that he found him amusing. The sooner he got over how sexy his partner was, the better for the both of them. "The mission about the murders in England," he supplied.

Christophe looked at him in confusion. "What are you goeeng on about? Zere was only one person murdered by 'ooever ees causeeng zis."

"No," Gregory lost the grin in an instant and a dark scowl took its place. "They found another body this morning."

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A/N: Another chapter, hot off the press! Well anyway, please review and let me know how I did or NO UPDATES!!! Just kidding, I'm not _that_ drastic, but I do get over my oft returning wirter's block faster with reviews flowing in. So please help a struggling writer out. Please?

**"Marie" and Christophe were engaged in another glaring match before Gregory came out of the lift.**

**"Come on Christophe, we have business to take care of." Christophe narrowed his eyes at the blonde girl one last time before heading out of the hotel doors with Gregory, relishing the hurt look she gave that she was not the one spending time with the cocky Brit.**

Wow, that was short! And I was doing so well too! Anyway, angry!Pip in the next chapter again (I hope you guys enjoyed this Pip!) and Christophe and Gregory explain a bit more about their last mission. I wonder what happened....

~theflawintheplan


	4. Chapter 4

Christophe just blinked at the Englishman. "I 'ave no idea what you are talkeeng about."

Gregory sighed. If this were an action novel, that would have been so anticlimatic. "They found the body of a young English boy this morning. We need to check this out."

Christophe's face did not lose its confused appearance. "..._Quoi?_"

The Brit's jaw clenched. "Go wash your face. You're of no use to anyone if you're tired today. You do want to show me up as a Frenchman, right?" He smirked and walked away, most likely downstairs to flirt a while with that girl. Christophe did not want to dwell on the fact that his chest constricted painfully with the thought of Gregory being interested in someone, so he dragged himself into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

He finally took the lift downstairs and was greeted with the sight of Gregory and that girl talking. Again they looked at Christophe as if not excepting him to arrive as early as he did.

"Ah Christophe," Gregory cleared his throat, blushing in a way that suggested he had been caught with his clothes off. "You remember Marie?"

" 'Ow could I forgeet? I see 'er everytime I step foot een ze lobby."

Both blonds coughed at the steely tone he used.

"Yes, well...." Gregory realised he left his voice recorder in the room. Knowing he would not do his part of the investigation well without it, he quickly excused himself and it was not long before Christophe was left alone with the one girl he wished would die a slow, painful death...well, besides Wendy girl.

Marie and Christophe were engaged in another glaring match when Gregory came out of the lift.

"Come on Christophe, we gave business to take care of." Christophe narrowed his eyes at the blonde girl one last time before heading out of the hotel doors with Gregory, relishing the hurt look she gave that she was not the one spending time with the cocky Brit.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Gregory peered at Christophe sideways as he drove them toward the British agency. The brunette still looked sour from whatever happened between him and Marie, so the blond decided not to make conversation. Christophe, however, saw no problem in talking.

"Tell me again why we are goeeng to ze agency eenstead of eenvestigateeng?" He asked bitterly. Gregory swallowed inaudibly before answering.

"We are going to see how Pirrip wants us to carry out the investigation."

Silence and then, "So you and Marie seem to get along." Christophe actually seemed calmer about this, but Gregory found the tone hard to trust.

"Yeah...we are. She's really nice." Gregory glanced at him again and was uneasy to see the Frenchman's blank expression had slipped its way back to his face.

"She's a 'ore 'oo loves to see me angry."

Gregory chose not to say anything, but Christophe took it as an answer.

"So you do not mind zat fact een ze least?"

The Brit started to get a little angry. "No, actually I don't because I know not a word you said is true." He stopped the car as they pulled into their destination's parking lot.

"Ah," Christophe giggled a little as he stepped out of car. He probably meant to sound indifferent or amused, but Gregory knew the brunette was far from either. He knew he was going to be in big trouble the moment they got back inside the vehicle. Walking inside, they were greeted by Pirrip's lovely secretary.

"Do you have an appointment?" She asked with obvious boredom. Her indifferent face only changed when the pair tried to get past her without answering.

"Hey! Do you have an appointment or not?"

Gregory turned back to the woman, looking almost as if he had forgotten she was even a part of the agency. However, he did not need to say a word as she gasped at the recognition.

"G-Gregory," she whispered. "I didn't realise...go on in...."

Gregory grinned and blew her a kiss. She blushed and Christophe tried to glare swords into her soul, but before he could succeed, his partner pulled him up the stairs and toward the conference room.

When they reached the room, they both seated themselves at the same moment, Christophe with a cold indifference and Gregory with a weary expression. Pip and Damien both wondered what had happened between the two before they stepped foot into the room. Pip cleared his throat.

"Okay, now that everyone's here, we need to get down to business. I would have _liked_ to do this with only my agency, but we'll have to make to with the new arrangements." He glanced at Damien, while Christophe and Gregory glanced at each other.

He clapped his hands together, bringing back everyone's attention. "Sharpe, Delaterre, you have to work together on this one, considering all your experience. Do you think you can handle that?" They both opened their mouths to respond, but Pip held up a hand to silence them. "I don't want an answer just yet. I want you to think it over thoroughly and then give me an honest answer. Even if it's one that _sends Delaterre home_."

Now he looked at Damien.

"I'm still angry with you for not giving me a fair warning before practically invading my home country...!" He took a moment to gather himself again. "However, we have to work together just like I was telling Sharpe and Delaterre. I want a full report of _your_," Pip looked back to the pair of agents, "progress every evening, sometimes more often if you find out anything new. I want the person responsible found at all costs."

Christophe and Gregory nodded to show they understood. Damien, however, was trying to comprehend the fact that Pip took charge so easily. It was a turn-on sure, but it was a far cry from the Pip he knew as a child. It almost made him feel like he was not needed anymore....

"What if it's more than one person?" Damien asked suddenly, wanting Pip to think positively of him again, and not that he was a nuisance.

"Excuse me?" Pip said with surprise.

"Well if every popular European country like Germany, Spain, and France, " Christophe felt sick at the mention of his beloved country, "have seven murders spring up within a short time, maybe it's not the work of one person. I mean, why does it have to be limited to one person?"

Gregory rolled his eyes. "Nobody said anything about it being one person. Pirrip always says 'the person responsible' for the sake of simplicity. Don't be so quick to distrust him."

Christophe groaned despite himself. "Oh please Gregory, do not make eet seem like we are ze bad guys."

"Well, you _did_ come into our country to investigate something that we should have been able to handle on our own." Gregory's silky voice had an underlying tone of malice to it, but this did not have any effect on Christophe besides causing him to leave the room.

The "Frenchie" stood up and stormed out before anyone could protest. He stomped down the hall back toward the stairs, but since he was looking down at the floor, he slammed into another person.

"_Je suis vraiment desole."_ He mumbled. He did not mean the muttered apology, but he knew Thorne would not hesitate to send him back to America if he screwed up here.

"_De pas problem._"

Christophe, who had taken to glaring at the poor wooden planks, looked up sharply. A redheaded man with a dazzling smile met the brunette's confused gaze.

"_S-Salut_..." Christophe greeted, breathless. He was so taken off guard he had not realised he was still speaking in his native language.

"_Salut. Comment tappelles-tu?"_

_"Christophe Delaterre...."_

_"Christophe."_ His warm smile grew and the Frenchman found himself nearly melting into the floor. "_Comment allez-vous, Christophe?"_

"_Bien...maintenant...."_ Christophe responded, annoyed with himself. Why was he blushing so hard? "_E-et toi?"_

The man's smile softened at Christophe's near shyness. "_Bien. Parlez-vous anglais?"_

"_Er, mais oui."_ Christophe answered. "Sorry eef I made you zeenk ozerwise."

"Not at all, I'm sure."

Christophe almost smacked his own forehead for his rudeness. "I am so sorry, but I 'ave not received ze pleasure of knoweeng your name."

The man looked surprised at the turn of events, but soon let out an easy laugh. "My goodness, I never told you? Well aren't we quite a pair?" If that had been Gregory's line, Christophe would have been extremely annoyed by the comparison, but he now found himself giggling at this man's analysis.

"My name's Herbert Pocket. Delighted to make your acquaintance."

"_Enchante."_

"Christophe, Pirrip wants us to get out there as soon as-" Gregory came out of the room to hear Christophe's voice still in the adjacent hallway. However, when he reached his French partner, he found another person he was not quite familiar with. "Hello," he cut his earlier sentence off and stopped just short of the pair before him. "Who's this?"

Christophe stopped giggling immediately and looked at Gregory with some alarm. If people thought the French man could get jealous....The blond man's mouth set into a hard line and his line of vision enveloped Christophe again.

"Delaterre, let's go." He growled. Christophe shivered as he remembered how possessive Gregory had gotten on the previous mission they had with each other. The sexual tension could be cut with a knife and Christophe found he did not particularly like being attracted to two different men. He did not like it at all.

So he followed Gregory down the hall and later the stairs, pausing slightly to turn back and give Herbert (ah, Herbert) an apologetic wave goodbye.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A/N: And the plot thickens! Whoo! Please review and the memory of the last mission will be in the next chapter, I promise! XD

~theflawintheplan


	5. Chapter 5

"Morning boss!" A chorus of voices greeted Kyle Broflovski as he trugded through the agency doors. He had been the "boss" for around a week now and he found he did not like the position as much as he originally thought. Everyone now held him to a higher standard and the pressure was already building to the point where Kyle imagined he would soon go insane. So he only grunted in reply as he pushed his way past the group and toward Thorne's office. He could not fathom his boss's bravery, always coming to work to face this mental and physical strain. A woman came up to him on his blind side and he quickly held up the clipboard he had in his hands in a poor attempt to hide himself. She rolled her eyes.

"Kyle, someone from the FBI wants to speak to you. He asked me to keep his identity a secret from you." Trying to save face after she saw through his "clever" disguise, Kyle cleared his throat.

"I thought for a second you were another one of those damn new guys who wanted to ask me about _every little thing_." Kyle took a moment for himself to shudder before remembering he was not alone. He cleared his throat again. "But uh, that's..." he cleared his throat a third time, "that's fine. Tell him I'll be there in a moment, Bebe."

The blonde woman scurried away and Kyle was left to consider how to deal with this. What could the FBI want with a mercenary spy agency? They were on the same side and besides that, the federal government created this organization not too long ago as a branch to the CIA. Or perhaps they wanted Kyle himself? After all, the FBI agent who was currently waiting in Thorne's office had wanted his identity to be kept a secret from the Jew...

The redheaded man found himself hyperventilating. He had not done anything wrong, but it did not take much before the FBI thought they had enough proof to persecute and torment someone. He did his best to straighten his shoulders and put on a brave face. He was going to look that agent in the eye, answer all their questions and hopefully not look like a complete fool. He took deep breath and entered the room.

"Hello Kyle," a handsome man stood in front of Thorne's desk. As soon as Kyle entered the room, the other man's lips upturned into a beautifully soft smile and the redhead found himself melting into the floor.

"Stan, he breathed. He found himself after a couple of seconds. "I didn't know you were a part of the FBI."

Stan's chest puffed out with pride. "Yeah, this was my way of letting you know." He deflated and looked at his friend with concern. "I heard Thorne left you in charge while he's overseas. How are you holding up?"

Kyle grimaced despite his desire to be strong in front of his crush. "I'm doing pretty good." Stan's knowingly sceptical face knocked down the rest of the Jew's wall. "It's horrible. Everyone keeps asking me questions, I have no privacy-or personal life for that matter, I hate this. I thought I could handle it and I can't." He hung his head in shamed exhaustion. Stan's small smile returned and he crossed the room to hug Kyle in comfort.

"It's going to be okay, Kyle."

For once, the redhead was happy to be short as Stan's chest vibrated from his deep voice. Kyle closed his eyes in contentment, glad the blinds were down and the door locked in an attempt at a moment of privacy. Stan, however, ruined his best friend's bliss with one simple question.

"How's your part of the investigation going?"

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Kyle finally made it home and collapsed onto his couch, wincing at the pounding muscles in his body. All day after his talk with Stan, the Jew was running around trying to gather more information about who or what was possibly causing this murdering spree. He wished Christophe was there...

Despite the protests of his body, Kyle sat up. Why would he think that? He should still be glad that Christophe was gone. It meant more things got done on time. It meant Kyle did not have to get up for work and wonder whether or not he was going to be molested that morning. It meant...there was no light-hearted feeling in the agency. It meant Kyle could not pretend to hate Christophe when the Frenchman made moves on him. To tell the truth, Kyle did not really mind Christophe's advances half the time-they could actually be cute and sweet. He just did not appreciate when the brunette neglected his work. The brunette was not like Stan who could perfectly balance his love life and his work life.

Stan. When he visited Kyle that morning it certainly was not for a social call. They talked for a bit about everything each had found out about the murders and after a while, Kyle found himself getting depressed for all the teens he was not able to help. Christophe, he would have cracked some inappropriate joke about something and Kyle would yell at him to cover the growing smile on his face. But as it turned out, Kyle was talking to Stan and the raven man was too sensitive for anything like that...

The Jew shook his head violently. He was _not_ going to spend his evening thinking about Christophe. It just was not healthy. He tried to think of other, more Stan-oriented things, but the more he tried, the more he pictured brown locks glowing in the sunlight, the way the Frenchman's laugh rose and fell like the waves, the flight they shared to England, the way Kyle's heart broke when Christophe snidely brought up the mission Kyle screwed up...

With a gasp Kyle effectively turned his thoughts away from Christophe and onto a particular, two-year-old memory he had hoped to forget.

**FLASHBACK**

_Kyle held the gun poised to kill, aiming it at his target of eight months._

_"Kahl," Eric Cartman drawled in his admittedly adorable country accent. "What are you doing?" He sounded so surprised and confused that Kyle's heart broke._

_"You've done some bad things Eric," he hold him shakily. He knew he sounded like a bad actor in a horribly cheesy movie, but he had to explain it to the man he had grown close to over the course of the mission. "I'm supposed to bring you to justice now. That's how this works."_

_"No Kahl, you're bringing me to _their_ justice. Just because they have a badge to back them up doesn't mean they're the correct ones, does it?" The gun dipped a fraction and the sight encouraged Eric to keep going. "I love you Kahl." He mentally grinned at the light gasp he achieved. "And I know you love me too. We can be happy together, just take my hand." He reached out his arm, completely aware of the cars beginning to surround the building._

_Kyle looked as if he desperately wanted to do this. "I can't," he said softly. "You're the bad guy."_

_Eric let out a short laugh that held no malice, only amusement. "The 'bad guy?' Kahl, there is no such thing as good and evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it. __**(1)**__ Come with me and I'll show you true power. Power enough to help your little brother. Don't let them get me, Kahl. Please?" Before Kyle could decide anything, his backup burst through the door._

_"Kyle, get back!" Stan yelled. There were FBI agents and people from Kyle's more recent branch of national security. They all surrounded Cartman and Kyle on one side, leaving the window open. Kyle noticed this, but he made not attempt to block the potential exit. He also paid no heed to Stan's order._

_"Kyle!" This time the commanded sounded more like a plea. "Get away from him!" Kyle gasped and moved back out of surprise. The gun sat in his hand, forgotten at his left side._

_"Kahl." His head jerked up to face the big man who revolutionised the art of underground organizations. "You know me, I've changed."_

_"Eric," the redhead whispered, tears falling down his face. Everyone else was too focused on Cartman to notice Kyle's reactions._

_"You bastard," Stan hissed. Kyle flinched at his harsh tone. "Don't you dare think Kyle would ever pity someone like you!"_

_Cartman paid no mind Stan's words, only looking at Kyle somewhat pleadingly. When the Jew saw Stan's finger begin to squeeze the trigger, he did not even have time to think about his next move. He launched himself at Stan, knocking the raven over as he protected the bigger man. __**(2)**__ Cartman smirked as the following chaos allowed him to nod slightly at Kyle before somehow slipping through the unblocked window._

_"I'm so sorry Stan," Kyle sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry..."_

**END FLASHBACK**

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." Kyle's subconscious mantra continued until he came back to himself enough to stop. He considered Christophe's incredible capacity to lust for a person and hoped the French pain in the ass would not fall for the same tricks Kyle did.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Christophe and Gregory did not talk as they made their way over to the crime scene. The brunette was too busy thinking about Herbert, and the blond was doing the same, only not in quite so friendly terms. When they finally arrived at the scene, Gregory immediately caught the eye of a female reporter and the same happened to Christophe, only with a male teen. The woman approached Gregory and introduced herself-Christophe did not bother remembering her name and she pointedly forgot to ask Christophe for his-and promptly dragged the other Brit away. The brunette was not alone for long as the male teen came to his side.

"Hello, I'm Harry Porter."

Christophe fought the urge to laugh at the absurd book title his mind came up with for the Harry Potter series, starring the boy in front of him: _Harry Porter and the Case of the Worldwide Deaths._ He could not blame himself though, the resemblance was uncanny. The similar names, the close ages, the glasses, the black hair, the slim and lanky figure, the slender nose that was too long for anyone else's face, yet somehow fit this boy perfectly. The only real difference were the eyes. Potter's eyes were emerald green, while Porter's eyes were a dusty grey with brown flecks acting like eye freckles.

The only thing that reigned in his chuckles was the face Kyle had thrown to him on the flight over. The face that screamed at Christophe that Kyle hated him because the Frenchman did not appear to care about any of the deaths. By now the boy looked worriedly at Christophe, as if he might have already annoyed the Frenchman. Christophe cleared his throat in an attempt to save face.

"I am Chreestophe...Sharpe." He had to use Gregory's last name, right? Was that not how marriages worked, even if it were only a mission? "Can you tell me somezeeng about all zis?"

The boy, Harry, hesitated. "I don't know about that Mr. Sharpe, I'm not even supposed to know anything myself."

"But you do know somezeeng?"

"Well..."

Christophe was losing his patience with this kid. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pulled him close, earning a gasp. When he was close enough to whisper in his ear, Christophe spoke again. "Eef you tell me, boy, I weell geeve you a keess."

Harry perked at this and straightened his shoulders beneath Christophe's hold. "Well I do know a bit, Sir." This kid was looking more potential each second that passed.

"He was a boy I knew. His name was Paul Holmes. You didn't hear this from me by the way." He stopped and it took Christophe a long moment to realise Harry was waiting for a confirmation from him.

"Yes, yes, I understand."

Harry seemed to calm down enough to continue. "He's...well, he _was_ in my class. Before..." He trailed off and gulped, looking toward the body with a mixture of sorrow and hurt. "He liked to play the piano and he was really good too. He'd always talk about when he became famous-and it was always 'when' with Paul. He believed that when someone said 'if' they became trapped in a state of not believing in themselves and they would never achieve their dreams." The grey-brown windows grew distant as he reminisced on his-crush? A smile gradually came to his face and he stood like that for a few moments, leaving Christophe to consider the dead boy. Kyle could think what he wanted, but the brunette really did care about the kids, especially when they were given a name and soul like Paul. Now he was more than a corpse in the street, he was another ambitious teenager, just like the one in front of him. And Christophe found he did not want to know anything more about this Paul kid.

"Zank you." Christophe spoke, snapping the boy out of his reverie. The boy looked slightly surprised and a little heartbroken when it appeared that Christophe was about to leave.

"But I-"

"You 'ave told me all I needed to know." The brunette assured him. Then after a moment's hesitation, he flashed the teen a smile and Harry's mouth went slack.

"W-what about my kiss?" The boy asked. Christophe frowned. He had almost forgotten about that kiss. He walked up to Harry and lightly pressed his lips to his forehead.

"Zere ees your keess." He smiled and walked away, acting as if he did not hear the boy calling after him. He almost smiled, but stopped dead when he saw that woman kiss _his_ partner on the mouth. He saw red and the world faded in favour of a horrible memory-at least to him-concerning the British asshole, who dared to call himself a man.

_Chirstophe sat in the airport, waiting for a man who was supposed to be his new partner for this particular mission. He was not used to babysitting someone else during his missions-Thorne had never forced this on him before-and he was not very happy with this situation. Suddenly a blond man sat down next to him. Normally he did not appreciate a person sitting so close to him and he faced the man, fully prepared to give him a piece of his mind...Christophe blinked from the sheer handsome-ness of the blond._

_"Tu es vraiment sexi." Christophe said admiringly, not really caring if the man spoke French or not. He would get the Frenchman's general meaning._

_The man smiled. "Comment tu tappelles?"_

_Taken off guard by the readiness of the other man to speak the French language, Christophe forgot about an alias when he answered, "Chreestophe Delaterre."_

_The smile grew wider. "Well Christophe, it would seem we're partners." Even though Christophe found himself missing the blond's accent when speaking the brunette's mother tongue, he could not help but feel like he was the luckiest person at that moment._

_~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~_

_Gregory sat down at the hotel's table with Christophe. "How are you today, my lovely?" He asked as he began to eat his breakfast._

_Christophe blushed, knowing the other man would be too engrossed in his food to notice the Frenchman's reaction to the term. "I am doeeng good Gregory, but I would appreceeate eet very much eef you stopped calleeng me zat."_

_"Why? You obviously like it."_

_Looking up, Christophe unexpectedly met the gaze of his partner and his cheeks exploded with a much redder tint. "Eet ees not appropreeate for ze meession!" He somehow managed to get out. He frowned as he sounded like that cute but uptight new kid, Kyle Broflovski. Before he could blink, Gregory and himself were both out of their chairs, and the Englishman had him pinned to the wall._

_"I think you rather enjoy the forbidden aspect of it all..." He claimed, bringing his face closer to Christophe's. The brunette wondered why he wanted to kiss the blond man so badly, but all thought was abruptly cut off when a man burst through the hotel window. He aimed the gun at the two partners, and instead of rolling his eyes at the assassination attempt like usual, Christophe found himself usually pissed off at the fact the third man had interrupted his moment._

_~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~_

_He began cleaning Gregory's wounds with a frown on his face._

_"I do not see why you would not let me join ze fight. I am not a fragile child for Christ's sake!"_

_"You're acting like one now." Gregory teased. Christophe sent him a nasty look, making sure to pull the bandages extra tight. They were silent for a moment what with Gregory trying to catch his breath and Christophe finishing with the last of the injuries. Soon the former broke the quiet._

_"I don't want to see you hurt." He said seriously. Christophe glanced up and his surprise only doubled when he saw the look in the Brit's eyes. Christophe's breath hitched when Gregory's hand slid to rest on top of his and he found he did not know what to say. Eventually he flushed and looked away from the Englishman's eyes, finally finding his voice again._

_"I assure you, Gregory, I can take care of myself. I 'ave been doeeng eet just fine for quite a few years now." Gregory nodded, but Christophe did not see the acknowledgement to his independence. He only re-checked his job, making sure and making sure again that all the bandages were position and provided enough pressure without completely cutting off the blond's blood flow._

_"Well I'm sorry if I made you feel inadequate in any way." Gregory's slow, proper English accent tugged at Christophe's heart. He looked up at Gregory through his eye lashes and the Brit had to hold in a lusty smile at how sultry his partner was being._

_"You deed not make me feel...eenadequate." Christophe reassured softly. He lifted his head further so their eyes could fully meet. Sexual tension crackled in the air between them and the Frenchman carefully crawled over Gregory's body from the end of the small couch. Gregory's eyes seemed glued to the brunette's lips as they travelled closer...closer..._

_~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~_

_Christophe blinked his army green orbs open. He slowly peered around the room, lazily wondering how he got into the bedroom and why he was naked under the sheets. He did not _usually_ sleep naked..._

_Thoughts and memories of last night filled Christophe's head. He flushed as he remembered an extraordinary trick Gregory had done for Christophe that involved his tongue. He turned his head to the other side of the bed and was surprised when he found himself bitterly disappointed at the sight of empty sheets. He usually did not mind if the other sex partner was gone by the next morning-he did not like messy committal feelings-but for some reason it was different when it came to Gregory. His throat closed and his stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought that last night did not mean anything to Gregory. He managed to get out of bed and grab a robe to cover himself before he left the bedroom. The brunette could be surprisingly modest when he wanted to be._

_Gregory? Christophe called as he entered the main room of the hotel suite. He found the blond in the kitchen area, holding his head in his hands. When the blond looked up and flashed Christophe a small smile, the Frenchman allowed himself a soft, hopeful grin of his own._

_Hello again Gregory, he drawled in his French accent while making his way toward the Englishman. He stopped right behind Gregory and lifted his hands to the blond's shoulders and started to knead the muscles. He had never done this before and wondered if he was massaging too hard, but the Englishman sighed in pleasure beneath Christophe's fingers. Suddenly Gregory shifted in his chair and before Christophe knew it, he was pinned against the wall again. Gregory kissed him hungrily as he traced the shorter man's collar bone._

_"I've been thinking about what you said." He panted._

_W-what I said?_

_"Yes, about how this isn't appropriate for the mission."_

_And?_

_"I agree. Pirrip and Thorne should never know about this."_

_Why not? Last night you said-_

_"Never mind what I said then Christophe, I've been thinking since then and realised this is a matter of acting professional in the face of others. _D'accord_?"_

D-d'accord.

_But it was not okay. His brain may have been sending pleasure signals to every body part Gregory was currently touching, but the Frenchman's heart felt like his world was crashing down around him._

A/N: Here you go! Please let me know what you think!

**(1)** Whoo! Harry Potter fans live forever! XD

**(2)** And Cartman really is the bigger man, hehe... That's a double entendre, by the way. For size and for actions.

**I'm seriously contemplating discontinuing this story because of the lack of feedback.** This is the first time I've really pled with readers so drastically...Please guys, you help keep the juices flowing and the Writer's Block hounds away! Don't let them win!

In the meantime, here's a preview:

**The America-raised German man smiled sweetly at the woman, making her faint at his feet. He had waited a long time for this moment, and there was no need to fret any longer. His moment was finally here. In a few seconds, his Jew would be back with him like he was supposed to be.**

**Stepping over the woman's unconscious form, he fished into his trench coat and pulled out a picture he had "borrowed" from Kyle's childhood home. The redhead was around eight or nine and he was sitting with an arm propped up to rest against his smiling cheek. It had to be the German's favourite picture of his Kyle Broflovski. The brunette looked up at the agency building and his grin grew even wider until the man was a malicious Cheshire cat with shining eyes full of cool confidence.**

**It was time to reclaim his rightful property.**

So long, and please don't forget to review!

~theflawintheplan


	6. Chapter 6

A man with a combined German and American-country accent was asking everyone in D.C. if they knew where Kyle Broflovski worked. One man was particularly suspicious of the first man's questions.

"Hey, what's your name?"

The German man turned to the other with some surprise. However, his expression soon relaxed and he continued. "Not to be rude," he told him easily, "but I don't give out my name unless the person who asked gives his own first."

The man stared hard at the foreigner for a while before surrendering. He did not seem to have the drive to fight it out. "...Fair enough. Why are you looking for Broflovski?" The German brunette's eyes lit up at this, and he only faintly noticed the nasally and monotonous tone the other man spoke with.

"Do you know him?" He asked, voice thick with two accents. "We had an interview today and I can't find the building." He tried laying on all the charm he could, but it did not have any effect on this bored-looking man.

"Well, I have no idea where he works. I only know him by default." He moved away quickly, but not without first sparing the foreign man one last glare. The latter sighed, frustratedly pulling a hand through his brown locks. At this rate, he would never find Broflovski. He thought this too soon, however, because a woman with brown hair, green eyes, and pink cheeks approached him.

"My name is Rebecca. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I want you to know that I know where Kyle works."

The man raised his eyebrows. Perhaps there was hope yet. "Really?"

She nodded but said nothing else, seemingly lost in his eyes. Finally, he got tired of waiting and cleared his throat agitatedly. He succeeded in her conscious attention again and the sheepish colour in her face grew. "He works in that building over there." She pointed out Damien's agency perfectly, not realising the building was really a branch of the CIA. "I saw him enter it numerous times back when we were still...talking." The German frowned at her implications. He decided to end this conversation quickly. The American-raised German man smiled sweetly at the woman, making her faint pathetically at his feet. He had waited a long time for this moment, and there was no need to fret any longer. His moment was finally here. In a few seconds, his Jew would be back with him like he was supposed to be in the first place.

Stepping over the unconscious woman's form, he fished into his trench coat and pulled out a picture he had "borrowed" from Kyle's childhood home. The redhead was eight or nine and he was sitting with an arm propped up to rest against his smiling cheek. It had to be the German's favourite picture of his Kyle Broflovski. The brunette looked up at the agency building and his grin grew even wider until the man was a malicious Cheshire cat with shining eyes full of cool confidence.

It was time to reclaim his rightful property. **(1)**

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Pip was frustrated with the pace of the investigation to say the least. Yes, he knew he had only given Sharpe and Delaterre instructions to give him information that morning, but he was extremely impatient at the moment. It was impossible to ask those two to complete the case within the day, but it had already taken too long when the second victim, even the first, had appeared. He sighed and rubbed his temples in irritated impatience.

"Sir?" An intern poked his head through the door.

"Yes?"

"Remember that mission Pocket and his partner Havisham were on?"

"Yes..." Pip hissed out, neither looking up nor taking his fingers from his forehead.

"Well, Havisham was captured, and Pocket wants to talk to you about it."

"_Tell him I'm a little stressed out right now!_" The director of Britain's agency roared, effectively scaring the other male away. He sighed again.

"Butters, I have no idea what to do." Pip confessed quietly. Butters, in fact, was not in the room with his British best friend. Butters was in America at the moment, trying to talk with some kid named Broflovski about Pip's feelings on Damien's sudden appearance in England. However, Pip could _pretend_ for a while that Butters could hear what he was saying, all of his complaints.

"Christophe and Gregory are tied together with more than just anger-and I think you understand what I mean, Butters," he added softly. "I've just put them on a team together in recklessness. Not to mention the fact that now Estella let herself be captured and Herbert wants to talk to me about...how exactly it happened, I suppose. God Butters, I just hope-" At that moment, Damien entered to hear Pip speaking to invisible friends. His brow quirked and Pip's cheeks flushed.

"...Isn't Butters on another continent?"

Pip wished his embarrassed glares would cause Damien's stupid, amused face to implode on itself and neither paid anymore attention to what had been said about Christophe and Damien.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

The two agents on Pip's mind were currently walking across the hotel parking lot and back into the building in silence. Gregory had attempted numerous times to start a conversation, but finally the blond spy joined the angry refusal to talk. He did not even spare a nod toward Marie, much to the latter's anger and sadness.

The terse quiet on both parts dissipated the moment they set foot inside their hotel room, though. Christophe began the discussion.

"Ze boy I was speakeeng wiz was named 'Arry Porter. 'E was ze veecteem's friend or lover-'e knew ze boy 'oo died ees what I am tryeeng to say." He started. " 'E was really broken up about eet so I deed not push ze eessue." He did not bring up the fact that because his distancing from the victim had slipped, he walked away from Porter.

The woman, Gregory supplied, was Annie Clutch. "She's a reporter who is trying to scrape up any information she can, any way she can." Christophe had to wonder what types of persuasion she used on the Englishman. They were most likely less-than-classy types if Gregory was involved.

"And deed you," was all he asked.

"Did I what?"

"Geeve 'er eenformation."

"Of course not, I'm not an idiot or a bad spy...Did you give that Potter-"

"Porter."

"Doesn't matter, Christophe!" Gregory was beginning to get a little frustrated with his temporary partner. Geez, you would think a man could talk here. The brunette apparently did not feel the same.

"Oh, okay zen. I know you would not like eet eef I deed not call you by your name, but I completely understand eef-"

"_Porter_ then. Did you give him information?"

"We are talkeeng about '_Arry_ Porter, _oui_?"

"...Christophe."

"No, I deed not." Christophe's eyes sparkled beautifully as his amusement was contained within those shining green orbs. His lips twitched as he turned his nose in the air in feigned disdain.

Gregory licked his lips subconsciously as he watched this. He recalled the other's insane jealousy when the Brit so much as looked at women and also his complete disregard for spying etiquette when faced with French-speaking Englishman, namely himself and Herbert Pocket.

A slow, slightly perverted smile graced Gregory's mouth as his tongue went back to where it belonged. He knew that if he were given the chance, he would do anything for another night of pleasure with the brunette Atheist.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Stan was sitting at his desk, finishing the last of his paperwork while simultaneously trying to freshen up for his date with Wendy. It had been awhile since the two had gone out as a couple and he was really eager to get started on their night on the town. His movements were excited as well, and Stan found himself whistling as he gathered his papers to place them in his breifcase. He practically skipped to the door he was so giddy. However, the joy did not last long after that as a storm cloud appeared in the guise of a single telephone ring.

Even though the fatal sound had stopped him dead, he continued to stare through the frosted office glass, longing for the offered freedom and debating on whether or not to answer the phone. However, when the second ring pierced his ears, he sighed and turned, picking up the phone with a heavy hand and a heavy heart. He exhaled his greeting heavily as well.

"Hello?"

He listened to the reply for about a minute without speaking. How could he when each passing jiffy turned his face paler and his arms grew weaker and shakier? He finally dropped the phone as Craig was trying to finish a sentence and ran out his door. He did not care about the spectacle he was creating. He did not care that he was throwing away his perfect night out with Wendy, the girl of his dreams and future, in favour of this new task. What he cared about was getting to his best friend as quickly as possible.

When he was assaulted with bright sunlight, he immediately put on extra speed and hightailed it toward Kyle's building. He went faster than he had ever gone before-of course, with the exception of one, similar incident. You see reader, Craig had just called to inform Stan of seeing a large brunette who looked suspiciously like the German criminal Kyle had handled in a previous covert operation that soon involved the FBI.

The man had been questioning D.C. residents, looking for a Mr. Broflovski. Then, the foreigner had spoken with a female attorney, resulting in the man heading toward the very building where Kyle worked... Stan could not believe it was actually happening again. After the two years the German had stayed quiet, he finally decided to make an appearance just as Marsh had been lured into letting his guard down. A terrified pang in his chest made it hard to breathe as he continued to race to his Super Best Friend.

He was back.

Eric Cartman was back, and Stan could only imagine what the man would do once he got a hold of the redheaded spy.

A/N: Whoo, a little intense cliffy for you all to enjoy! I was kind of too lazy to edit this chapter all the way through, and I don't really have a preview at the moment, but I think there will be one in the next chapter...I hope you guys aren't too upset. ^_^"

**(1)** *Sigh* It just doesn't have that same effect when it's not "propertah..." XD

**This chapter is dedicated to SingerToPotatoes, for forcing me to stand by this story! I appreciate you!**

Please let me know how I did this time around!

Sincerely,

~theflawintheplan


	7. Chapter 7

From Hate to Love 7

Philip "Pip" Pirrip—an ace of espionage back when he was actually in the field—was currently flushed a bright red as he readied himself for Herbert's imminent entrance.

***FLASHBACK***

Damien entered to hear Pip speaking to invisible friends. His brow quirked and Pip's cheeks flushed.

"…Isn't Butters on another continent?"

Pip wished his embarrassed glares would cause Damien's stupid, amused face to implode on itself and neither paid any more attention to what had been said about Christophe and Gregory.

"Well, Pip? Are you going to answer the question?"

"…Yes, he is," the Brit ground out. This was not like the "old days"—this was real and needed Pip's focus. If Damien could not understand that, perhaps then he needed to return to bloody America. When he told Damien as much, the raven's brow rose.

"You find me a distraction?" Pip nodded determinedly.

Damien chuckled and the lazy sound grated on Pip's ears. He began to make his way around the large table separating them, causing Pip to subconsciously take a step back. "I think this case is starting to get to you, Pip. You should probably…_relax_ for a while."

Pip did not like the predatory gleam in the other man's eyes and grin. "I—I think you should continue to use my surname." He cursed himself for stuttering from the sexual tension.

Damien's grin grew, baring all of his charming teeth. "Why? We have known each other for quite a few years now, _Pirrip_." He purred. "We've even been in the field together. Remember that mission in the English countryside?" Damien wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. He did not care about looking professional anymore. After all, he liked seeing that blush on Pip's cheeks.

Pip's cheeks were aflame by now. Damien was presently in front of the Brit and the latter was presently pressed into the wall. "I don't remember that at all," he lied and Damien saw right through it but said nothing, "and don't say 'quite a few years,' that makes me feel old."

Damien smirked and bent forward. Pip panicked and slapped the raven. Damien's jaw went slack and Pip's flushed cheeks did not dim as he avoided the other's gaze.

"Please Thorne, I have an agent I need to talk to." He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched as his door was slammed shut.

***END FLASHBACK***

Pip had sat himself down sometime during the memory, and now he reached a dazed hand to each burning cheek. How was Damien able to affect him so completely…? Pip looked up as a knock sounded at the door.

Herbert was here.

He jumped up and practically sprinted to the door. If anyone could help distract him from idiotic, self-righteous ravens who "visited" annoyingly often, it was going to be his friend from uni. Opening the door, he sighed in relief as his gaze fell upon Herbert's familiar features.

"Hullo again, Herbert," he stepped aside to let the other Englishman through. Herbert returned the greeting as he sat down at the long conference table.

"So what do you need to talk to me about? Estella?" Pip could not help the (thankfully faint) butterflies in his abdomen as he uttered his former love's name. Herbert's face turned grim.

"I'm afraid so, old chap. I assume you've heard by now about her getting captured during our latest mission?"

"Yes. You were supposed to trail one of the bosses of the underground drug cartel in South America." Pip meant the last statement more as a summary of their objective rather than a reprimand of their apparent failure.

Herbert shifted uncomfortably. "Er, yes, that's correct. Well, we got found out—or at least, Estella did—and...well, her current situation is unknown, Pip. It's all right here in my report if you would like to look it over." He set a manila folder on the table—Where did he pull it out of?—and pushed it toward Pip, who accepted the small offering. He only took a moment to glance over the contents before his gaze met Herbert's again.

"Is her location unknown as well, or just her situation?" The redheaded man in front of him shifted again.

"...Er, both..."

Pip sighed and began to rub his temples, ignoring Herbert's concerned regard.

This was going to be a long way.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Gregory Sharpe and Christophe Delaterre were currently lounging in their hotel room. The former had tried to convince the latter that they should be working on their mission—Pirrip did want new information every day, after all—but the Frenchman could not be persuaded. Gregory could not say he completely opposed the other man for it. This way, he could spend the day musing over his favourite brunette.

He wondered what Christophe was so angry at him. The way he remembered it, they both enjoyed their last mission together. Unless Christophe was angry that he had enjoyed an _Englishman's_ company. If that was the case, that was just rude and misleading... But he did not want to think that way about his Christophe.

Suddenly, Christophe looked up at Gregory from his leisure book. "Why do people not like me?" He asked softly and Gregory had to fight down the shiver that threatened to run down his back. That French accent was so sexy. He had to blink away those thoughts so he could focus on the question.

"I'm sorry, what were you asking?"

Christophe rolled his eyes. "Ze people I like never seem to like me back. I was askeeng why zat ees."

Gregory scratched his head a while before smiling and shrugging. "I wouldn't really know the answer to that question." His smile grew more devious and knowing. "Who do you like?"

Christophe blushed but scoffed and chose not to respond. Gregory's smile softened with affection as he stared at the reading Frenchman. Suddenly, he jumped as if something had bitten him. "We really do need to give Pirrip a call. Shit."

Christophe spared him a glance through his lashes. " 'E ees not my director. You call 'im." Gregory glared at him, but the attempt fell on [reading] eyes. Not having a witty remark fast enough, he flipped open his phone and dialled an unmarked number he knew could not be traced to his boss.

"_Who is it?"_

"You know who it is, Pirrip?"

"_Sharpe? Can you talk...?"_

"Yes, it's safe."

"_Oh, thank God. At least you two have not [fucked up] your mission completely... Your mission isn't jeopardised, is it?"_

"No, we're both fine." Gregory did not ask who screwed up; he knew Pirrip would not tell him because he simply did not need to know. Pirrip did not waste any time.

"_What have you found so far?"_

"The first victim's name was Paul Holmes. Again, not much is known about the cause of death, but I did find some kind of substance on the boy's clothes—dried salt, I believe."

Pirrip was silent for a moment. _"Are you suggesting the victim came in contact with salt water?"_

Gregory gave his confirmation. "This is my belief, yes."

Pirrip sighed. _"Then this murder cannot be tied to the others."_

"Well, we can always see what the [Medical Examiner] has for the cause of death, just to be sure about giving this case up." Pirrip seemed to think about this for a moment.

"Alright, if you can get that information and it has no definite cause of death, fine. But so help me Sharpe, if you two shed light of this to the public or you get compromised—"

"Relax, we're professionals." Before his boss could respond, Gregory hung up the phone. He could always blame it on a faulty connection if Pirrip was more [pissed off] then the former initially anticipated. He turned to face Christophe again.

"Okay Christophe, this is how the next couple of days are going to go," he said as he placed his phone inside his pocket. "I'm going to see if that woman I talked to earlier, Annie Clutch, has any new information on the case. I have my ways of making her talk." Christophe miraculously kept an angry flush from heating up his blank expression. "You're going to get information from the [Medical Examiner]," the Frenchman opened his mouth, "and unless you're preparing that mouth for something you want to do with me tonight, you need to close it. I don't need your protests right now." Christophe seethed, but that was about all he could do. He hated when Gregory acted authoritative, and he hated that he found it all _vraiment sexi_.

"Fine," he forced the relent from between gritted teeth. "I weell go, but I weell only tell Pirrip whatever I find out. I do not want to tell you anyzeeng."

Gregory rolled his eyes. "Fine, I don't care as long as you find something. This entire mission is looking increasingly impossible as time wears on."

"You told Pirrip you found a clue."

"No, I told him I found a strange substance on the boy's clothes that may or may not tie the body to the others. Only if the cases can be linked will the dried substance be a clue." Christophe grabbed his coat and Gregory sighed a little heavier than was needed.

"Where are you going, Christophe?"

Without turning around, the Frenchman addressed the blond with the most hostile tone he could muster. "I am goeeng out for a dreenk, I weell not be back unteel late." He opened the door and stepped out, but just as he was about to pull it shut, he paused. "Per'aps zat Marie girl weell keep your lonely body company." And Gregory was left alone again.

He was really getting tired of that.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Kyle Broflovski sat crouched in the far corner of the room and stared unblinkingly at the closed door across from him. That door led to the outside. That door led to...freedom.

He gazed down at his own body. Eric Cartman had not sought to restrain the Jew. In fact, he had seemed to go out of his way to make sure Kyle was healthy and happy before leaving Kyle for a few hours in favour of that disreputable "business" of his.

And was Kyle happy?

He had to admit immense fear at being with Cartman again, but at the same time he was strangely relieved and...excited at the thought. He _wanted _to see Eric Cartman again, even it had resulted from the man's kidnapping the redhead.

Kyle could not help but feel like he was trapped inside some cheesy espionage fanfic, where he was kidnapped by villainous character and had no idea who his Prince Charming would be, considering he had three candidates.

So Kyle Broflovski sat crouched in the far corner of the room and stared unblinkingly at the closed door across from him marked "uncertain freedom."

A/N: So this is it for now. I know it's crap, but I needed to get this out to you guys. I hope I haven't lost a lot of readers. Anyway, due to angry schoolwork and stress issues, I'm only taking on a few stories at a time. _**I'll have a poll up, so let me know which story you want to see! If not, I'll go with the top five (updated) stories with the most reviews. XD**_

Sincerely,

~theflawintheplan


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